


The Design's Ruthless

by sugarboat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Implied Knotting, Inappropriate use of praise kink, M/M, Multiple Penetration, Other, Oviposition, Size Difference, Tentacle Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: Jon reads a warning note and then does the exact opposite. Possibly foreseeable consequences arise.





	The Design's Ruthless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [FFA fill fest](https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/344797.html?thread=2002882525#cmt2002882525).

Jon didn’t get many opportunities to head down to artifact storage anymore, even though as Head Archivist his clearance levels had been upped by a few degrees. There just wasn’t enough time, really, and there was no real reason for him to go himself when one of the assistants could go in his place. When he’d been a researcher himself only the entry rooms had been open for his perusal, and despite the vast assortment of items held within, without being able to touch them or study any of their so-called effects it’d never been enough to slake his curiosity.

Side-stepping around the fact that those who did indulge their interest more thoroughly ended up on leave or without a job. At the time, Jon had thought it all psychosomatic. Leitners were a different story, of course, but those were kept well out of the hands of himself and anyone else who might go prodding at things better left alone.

That was all incidental, anyway. Jon wouldn’t slip away from his work duties just to settle his own idle curiosity. That wasn’t what he was doing. This was follow-up research for the latest statement he’d compiled. When he’d finished the bulk of it – a woman who gotten snared in a stolen necklace, the chain growing shorter and shorter until it was choking her, he’d felt it, the sensation of gold and gaudy gems crushing his throat, her fingers scratching rivulets into flesh as she scrambled at its length – he discovered a note in the back, indicating that the necklace itself was in storage. Also indicating that it had yet to be examined more thoroughly for evidence that any of her story had been true. In this particular case, Jon was expecting something like blood or, he didn’t know, skin cells, something properly investigative to be found.

Instead the necklace’s log in the database revealed that it had _still_ not been examined, and Jon had only remembered to turn the tape recorder off halfway through an impromptu tangent on the far-reaching consequences of poor organizational structure. Checking the time and surrounding offices revealed the end of the work day had already come and gone. Not the most surprising thing in the world – he vaguely recalled waving Martin off before he’d settled in to the statement, assuring him he didn’t need anything but more absorbed in his work than in whatever his assistant had actually been saying.

All of which meant, in short, that if he didn’t want to leave his work half-finished for the day, he needed to go to storage himself. How difficult could it be to look at a necklace and determine if it had once preternaturally strangled a woman half to death?

Jon had his own set of keys to storage now. Generally they were out on loan to Tim or Sasha – lord knew he couldn’t trust Martin to go near the artifacts alone – but tonight Jon used them to let himself in, all the regular staff gone home for the evening. The entryway looked much as he remembered it, the shelves beyond reception as cluttered as ever. The necklace itself was located in one of the side rooms. One of those rooms Jon hadn’t previously been privy to. It was hard to say if that counted as a perk of his semi-recent promotion or not. Jon privately considered it one himself.

It might have taken a bit longer than was strictly necessary for him to reach the room in question. He kept finding his eye caught by unusual artifacts, new additions to their storage collection. Wishing there was more to the items than a reference and case number taped to the shelf beneath them. A few had been interesting enough that he filed their numbers away to pull up in the database later, see if they had been delivered to the hands of the Institute with a statement as well.

Room E3 – and honestly, Jon had no idea what labeling convention the rooms went by – was sparse, its center cleared and its walls hosting a few mostly bare shelves. The necklace was on one such shelf, held in a storage bag. Also on one such shelf was a small tin can that immediately stuck out as being out of place.

Jon frowned, letting the hinges pull the door back closed behind him. It wasn’t just that the small tin can was, well, a small tin can. There was no reference number below its place on the shelf, and it was wrapped in garishly colored packaging, a round plastic lid apparently keeping its contents contained. As he came closer, he saw it was set on a torn off bit of notebook paper.

 _TOTALLY NUTS_ was what the packaging on the outside of the container said.

 _DO NOT OPEN – TENTACLE MONSTER!!!!_ was what the loose leaf paper said.

Really. It was obviously Tim’s handwriting, and Jon didn’t know when his assistant had found the time to sneak into this area of storage obviously unauthorized just to plant a bloody prank on someone, but Jon did know when he would be finding the time to reprimand Tim for it.

His hand paused just a few centimeters away from touching the can. Because… it was a prank, Tim thinking he was being funny. But it was in one of those locked rooms. And Tim could be persuasive, certainly, but surely anyone who would have access to the keys to this part of the Institute would know better than to let him run amok within it. It was only due diligence for Jon to at least entertain the possibility that the note was being entirely accurate.

On the other hand, no catalogue numbering, no case references, no evidence whatsoever of this item having been through the proper processing before it was placed on the shelf. And it was Tim’s handwriting. He thought. It looked like Tim’s handwriting, at least. Didn’t it?

Jon waffled. A- A _tentacle monster_ \- whatever qualified as _that_ anyway - was hardly anything he wanted to accidentally unleash. But how likely was that? How likely was it that a book could lead to a spider?

Presumably, he reasoned, a tentacle monster would weigh more than whatever paper, spring-loaded snakes would weigh. He grabbed the tin carefully, almost as if he expected it to explode into tentacles itself, but it was just a can. The plastic lid was tinted so he couldn’t peer inside, and it was light in his hand when he finally picked up it. Jon held it at arms’ length from his body, feeling foolish. He jostled it slightly back and forth but nothing within it seemed to stir and finally he had to conclude that he was playing exactly into Tim’s hands here.

Even if Tim wasn’t actually here to enjoy it. Thoroughly exasperated, Jon brought the tin close to his chest and aimed it away from himself, towards the center of the room, and popped the lid off with his other hand.

And paper snakes did not come out.

It was hard to say _what_ , exactly, came out, because it felt like his brain was stuttering, skipping over scratches on a record as he tried to look at it. A mass had launched itself from the can, wet somehow, it looked wet, dark and shimmering surfaces that kept unraveling from its center like an optical illusion. Long and winding limbs that snaked sinuously into the air, thickly viscous liquid dribbling off of them to land in globular patters on the floor.

And eyes. Eyes like pustules along the skin of its body, rupturing open to stare at him while the bulk of its body grew and grew and grew. And Jon was still frozen where he stood, regarding it in turn, unable to look away for some horrible, awful reason. He had dropped the tin can somewhere, he noted in a distanced kind of way. Not that he had any idea how he would stuff the thing back inside it anyway.

It had grown to take up most of the room when Jon noticed a few of its limbs begin to wind their way towards him, and that was what finally kicked his body into the proper fight or flight response. He darted towards the door, but despite the lazy, languid way it had curled and twisted before, the- lord preserve him, the _tentacle monster_ could apparently move quickly when it needed to.

It snatched him by an arm, wrapped around the hook of his elbow and up towards his shoulder, wrenching it backwards hard enough that his joint felt painfully stretched and made an ugly popping noise. That was enough to bring him into range, for more of its limbs to join their fellow in winding around him. One around his right leg, lifting him off his feet by it alone for a terrifying moment before his other leg and arm were grabbed as well and it was dragging him in, pulling him close to its center where its eyes twisted strangely and roved across its flesh, all beneath a gelatinous layer of dark ooze.

“Wait,” he said, “Wait, stop, please- please, I-I just-”

Jon couldn’t tell if it was listening or not, if it even had the apparatus required for listening. Which was probably just as well because he also couldn’t tell what he was going to say. What kind of defense he could rally against being devoured whole or ripped into pieces by this thing.

He felt in the process of being consumed already, with the way its pupils fixated upon his form from a hundred different angles. How more and more of its- its tentacles, ugh, found his body, wrapping around his torso and hips, his legs. It was cold, even through his clothing, leeching off his heat and soaking the fabric dark with their secretions.

The end of one of its limbs found his palm, Jon’s fingers closing around it briefly before he spread them again in shock. Disgust, at its smooth texture, the wet slide of it over his skin. The flesh of his palm tingled, almost a warm sensation, before the tentacle was pushing up against his hand again, like an animal seeking affection. Its tapered end found the cuff of his sleeve and began squirming underneath.

“Stop,” Jon said again, apparently for his own benefit, as the creature continued sliding around him unabated. “You’re going to- ugh.”

Going to rip his shirt, was what he meant, which happened as the thing kept forcing itself beneath it. He’d tried to grab onto it, to stop it, but whatever fluid it coated itself in was slick and its hide beneath glass-smooth, with no purchase his nails or fingers could find. The creature had found more gaps in his clothing, at the collar of his shirt and between its buttons, forcing its limbs in through each until they snapped or tore. He really hoped that wasn’t foreshadowing.

Uniquely unpleasant was the way they wormed beneath his trouser legs, soaking his socks and generally being a disgusting menace. Until enough had burrowed beneath the material to tear those as well and Jon was rapidly finding himself without clothing at all. And all the while they pulsed and squeezed at his limbs, coating him in that strange, stinging liquid.

Jon was not panicking. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, but that was because of how the tentacles squeezed at his ribs, kept him from taking deep breaths. Not because the situation had spiraled completely out of his control, if it had ever been in his in the first place. Or that twisting and bending his own limbs resulted in nothing at all, no leverage to speak of whatsoever. He wasn’t even strong enough to resist his legs being splayed and puppeteered by the creature, his thighs trembling as he tried to close them again.

He definitely was not panicking that the tendrils had found the waist of his pants, were wriggling themselves beneath the thin material there and where the garment terminated at his thighs. Jon arched his back, shifting his hips, struggling to twist away from where the cold limbs began to curl around much more sensitive flesh.

“Stop, stop, I’ll- I’ll do anything,” he pled. What he could do for a tentacle monster besides exactly this was probably nonexistent. “Stop, god damn it, get off-”

This time, he was cut off by a tentacle finding his mouth. Prodding at his lip for a split second before it was filling his mouth, muffling any sounds he might have made. Its tip wriggling exploratorily along his teeth before it seemed to stumble upon his throat and began forcing its way down. Jon tried biting at it, found his teeth slipping over its surface. His jaw stretching wider and wider as its limb tapered thicker, and he heard a quiet, desperate noise escape his throat at the feeling of more them pressing into his mouth, squirming their way in alongside the bulk of the one still, somehow, pushing deeper inside him.

The ones below his waist had become rather active as well. Coiling around his cock that was slowly filling, responsive not to his fear or anger or humiliation but to sheer physical sensation. They looped around his balls as well, constricting and releasing in a pattern like breathing, or a heartbeat, steady and interminable. And one had slunk between his cheeks, his body shivering as he felt it slide against his hole, still somehow optimistic enough to hope that it didn’t realize what it had found.

A hope that was dashed quickly enough as it began prodding incessantly at him, the limbs around his hips tightening and dragging him downwards when he kept trying to jerk away, and it was like it encountered no resistance at all as the tentacle slowly forced its way inside him, slick and smooth, coaxing his muscles – his body – open for itself. Feeding more of its bulk into him heedless of how he struggled and whined, how quickly he felt overstretched, a high, constant aching that radiated up his spine. How much it filled him, how it went deeper and deeper inside him before it came to a stop and Jon moaned, feeling impaled or something close to it, as if the tip of its limb was jutting into his stomach, should be seen bulging against his flesh from the outside.

The tentacle in his mouth jerked itself out and Jon gasped in a deep, shuddering breath. The one inside him reared back as well, so suddenly he felt his insides clench around nothing in its wake. Before they both drove back inside him and began a pace, fucking him, Christ, they were fucking him, his body held still except for how the limbs rocked him back onto the tentacle ramming his insides, forcing him to meet its every thrust. The one in his throat seemed to content to follow, squirming and coiling inside him while the one in his ass kept working more and more of itself into him.

It continued for a while, until Jon finally gave up struggling. His body was exhausted, pleasure from how the creature was still stroking up and down his cock buzzing through him, pain weirdly muddled and electric beside it. The tentacle in his guts had stopped again, and this time Jon was angled to enough to see that there was a distortion in his stomach from its length, that he could watch it shift and writhe even as he felt it move. It didn’t prompt nearly the amount of horror it should, the emotions fizzling like they’d been waterlogged, like he’d felt them enough they just didn’t register any longer.

He watched its length slowly disappear as it pulled itself out of him. Just its thinner tip remained inside him and he almost felt grateful – relieved – for a few moments. Until he felt more of them pressing against his entrance like they’d pressed into his mouth and it kicked enough adrenaline into him to renew his efforts to free himself. Cursing around the things still stuffed between his teeth, that were still close enough to threaten to drive down his throat again.

Fruitless, of course, as he had known it would be, as they pulled and stretched at him and forced their way in. Sliding and twisting around each other as they shallowly – for a certain, relative definition of the word – moved inside him. It was too much – Jon felt like he was going to be split open, his skin and viscera tearing apart like his clothing had, soaked and sodden and trapped. The creature seemed content to lazily surge in and out of him, ignoring the muffled, involuntary sounds that were forced out of Jon every time it pushed back into him.

He almost sobbed with relief when the twisting things inside him pulled out entirely. Except, he realized, he was already crying, tracks of tears he hadn’t noticed through the slime already coating him, and like it was making up for how it’d left him open and aching elsewhere, the tentacle in his mouth slid back down his throat. It was moving him, too – a fact that didn’t register until he’d been brought closer to the bulk of its body, and he watched, half choked and bleary, as its form began to shift and ripple.

It was still difficult to make out exactly what he was looking at. Trying to sort through and categorize any of its surfaces made his head throb dully, like the beginning of a migraine. Its eyes were being pushed aside, somehow, its skin splitting, almost flower-petal like, and Jon saw – he didn’t know, bulging membranes, translucent sacs that looked like they were straining with something.

Folds in its surface parting around what Jon would have called another tentacle, except it seemed less giving and prehensile than the rest, larger. Its tip was different, as well, more flared like a- his thoughts skipped over the comparison, even as his body was positioned above the protrusion and proving it apt. His legs couldn’t be parted much farther but the tendrils around them pulled at him relentlessly, aching in his hips.

It felt massive when it began to press inside him, over-sore muscles protesting, but he sunk down on it all the same, whimpering as the head of it stretched and stretched him before suddenly popping inside. Aware of every inch driving into him, carving him open, and Jon was panting, shivering in the tentacles’ cold embrace by the time he was seated fully on it, pressed flush to that recessed opening on the creature’s surface.

That bulge was back in his abdomen, making his stomach turn. Doing his best not to consider what it was doing to him, what was going to happen after it was done with him. If it was ever going to be done with him, if it didn’t just keep spawning more and more limbs to fuck him with.

And like he shouldn’t have had the thought at all, the creature began to pull him back up, Jon groaning at the sensation, how hollowed out he felt as it left him. How it teased him with the distant hope of being relieved, just shy of slipping free of him entirely with the tip of its- its cock, its appendage only barely inside him before he was dragged slowly, slowly back down.

Jon wasn’t sure how many times he’d been pulled along its length. Things tended to blur together, the twist of its limbs around him, down his throat still like it was trying to reach itself through his body. Every inch of his body was disgusting, coated in its slime, his muscles feeling bruised and battered from the tendrils’ constant squeezing grip. Annoyingly enough, his cock stayed hard, a low baseline of arousal jostled into sharp sparks when the thing inside him jerked and brushed against him in an inconsistent way.

It made it hard to concentrate and all things considered, he didn’t really want to anyway. He wanted to drift, leave his body with this thing until it had had its fill. Jon thought he’d very nearly managed it when he recognized that- it was saying his name. In a calm, soothing manner, and for some reason, it sounded strangely familiar.

“Jon,” it said again, just as it was bottoming out inside him and Jon moaned plaintively, fluttering his eyes open. Maybe it had sprouted a mouth, but no, there was just that unidentifiable mass and then a hand – a human hand – cupping his jaw, leading him to turn his head. “There we are.”

He must have lost it entirely. His mind desperately reaching for comfort and conjuring- well, he wasn’t sure about the choice of his boss as such, but he wasn’t exactly in a place to be choosey about his hallucinations.

“You’re in a rather difficult situation,” Elias commented. He was touching Jon. Hallucinations didn’t touch, did they? “I have to say, you’re taking this very well.”

Referring, he supposed, to the fact that he wasn’t dead or worse already, though Elias’ hand found his stomach and rubbed, pushing against the thing stretching him out, a deep, throbbing pressure and ache that made Jon whine in his throat.

“This bodes well for your future career,” Elias continued. “Really. Resilience is key in our line of work.” Elias eased off of him, grabbed the tendril leaking out of his mouth and hauled it free. Jon felt it fighting him as it was reeled out of his throat.

“E-Elias,” Jon gasped, his voice thick with tears, rasped from misuse. “H-Help me.”

Elias took in a slow breath. “I would, Jon. But unfortunately, once this creature has begun its mating cycle, I’m afraid it won’t be interrupted until it has, hmm, reached completion.”

Jon laughed, the sound turning into a wheeze as the tentacle that had been down his throat coiled itself around his neck instead and squeezed. It loosened when the monster hauled him upwards, and only tightened when he threatened to thrash in its grasp, to pull himself free before it had fucked back into him.

“It will be easier if you relax,” Elias soothed. His palm was flat against Jon’s stomach, was there when he felt the creature press inside him. Felt Elias rub at its cockhead through his skin.

“Are you enjoying this?” Jon snapped, unfamiliarly heated.

“Yes,” Elias answered, and when Jon looked at him in surprise Elias appeared similarly caught off guard, before his expression shifted and he was just _pleased_ and, “Oh, Jon.”

He had no response for that, really, for such a brazen confession and whatever had followed, the heavy weight of Elias’ gaze. He didn’t need one, because the creature chose that time to increase its pace, until he was practically being bounced on its dick, little involuntary sounds kicked out of him with every thrust, and Elias’ hands slid down to his hips, encouraged him back onto it harder.

And like some dam had broken, Elias spoke to him, absolute filth that made Jon’s head spin. About how good he looked taking cock, how Elias wished he could have seen him in person earlier, when the thing had been working him open, its limbs fighting amongst themselves in a tangle to bury inside him. How full Jon was, how much Elias was looking forward to seeing him take even more.

Alarm bells tried to ring at that last bit but Jon couldn’t focus on anything outside of his own body. His cock dribbling precome, skin hot enough that the cool of the tentacles around him felt welcoming, soothing even. And the creature inside him, ruining him, sparks of pain and pleasure both beneath his skin every time it bottomed out.

He began to understand when it dragged him down a final time, deep as it could drive itself into him. A sharp, prickling sensation flooding him and the monster spasmed around him, inside of him, its limbs tightening and its mass warping weirdly. It was massive inside him already, but Jon let out a moan that was almost despaired when he felt it stretching at his hole even further. But this time the stretch passed and- and he could feel it, a bulge rippling along the length of cock inside him, all the way inside him to its bloated tip. Felt it leave the creature and settle, heavy and hard in his guts.

“Elias,” Jon said, desperate, as he felt another- another thing force inside him, tracking its aching path up into him. “Elias, please, stop this, stop it, help me-”

“Jon,” Elias said, stern in a way that had Jon’s attention snapping to him, stilling his futile attempts at freeing himself. “Calm down. I already told you, this creature won’t be interrupted until it’s finished with you. Which, I suspect, will be quite soon.”

Jon sobbed, his head hanging forward. The creature had lodged its cock inside him somehow, not budging at all when he tried to shift his hips. Elias was close to him, close enough that Jon could rest his forehead on his shoulder, stain his clothes with the slime still dripping off him. The rate of the- Christ, were they eggs? Elias had said _mating cycle_ , and Jon was just not ready to think about any of this. The rate of them pumping into him had increased, and he could feel them bumping against each other, imagined he could hear them clattering into one another.

His stomach and abdomen hurt, skin stretching taut and bloated with their weight. And something deeper, too, more spiking and visceral. There couldn’t be enough room inside of him to hold them all, not when there was hardly a break between each one slipping inside him. Elias pet and stroked the growing bulge in his stomach, cupping his hand against the round curves of them that had begun to press up tight against his skin. And they kept coming, even when he felt full enough to burst.

And kept coming, even as he groaned and twisted in pain, and discomfort. Until the last one was dropped inside him and a gush of fluid followed it, hot and thick inside him, before the creature suddenly lifted him up and free entirely of its cock in one horrible, jerking movement. Dropped him to a heap on the ground and even Elias was stepping away from him, speaking in a tone similar to one trying to entice a pet, and Jon noticed in a distant way how the tentacle monster folded back in on itself, was coaxed into returning to its tin can home.

Elias returned to his side soon enough. More than that, Elias was guiding him to a half sitting position, cognizant of the fact that Jon felt fucked half to death, letting him drape his weight against him. Elias stroked over his stomach again, shushing him gently when Jon grumbled a vague complaint. But his hand drifted lower, finding his cock, still hard somehow and dripping with the thing’s fluids.

“Let me take care of that for you,” Elias murmured, before jacking him in earnest while Jon moaned piteously. He came in a surprisingly short time, with Elias kissing his forehead, and telling him again how well he’d done. And that was it. Exhaustion finally claimed him, the blackness that had been drifting at the corners of his vision rushing in to fill its breadth.


End file.
